


The End of the Game

by Evil_Little_Dog



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  A possible end to everything.<br/>Disclaimer:  I don't own these characters, nor do I own the story that inspired it (lyrics at the end of the story).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the Game

He'd never thought it would end this way.

No, scratch that, he never thought it'd end at all, particularly not this way. Not with the swollen sun hanging low overhead; turned blood-red by the clouds of dust clotting the air. Smoke rose sluggishly from fires, burning buildings, burning cars, burning bodies; crawling skyward.

He certainly never expected to be run to ground, not this way; a stake through his leg; skin blistered even from the smog-enveloped sun. Not here, in a deserted building. A snort rose, unbidden; a glimpse of the humor he once had. To call this rickety thing a building was something like saying Drusilla was sane.

Dru.

He wondered if maybe she might have predicted this end.

His end.

No. He still had time. He could still win this game.

Glaring at the wooden shaft piercing his left thigh, he grasped the end tightly. It needed to come out, this lucky-unlucky stake. Lucky - it'd missed his heart. Unlucky - it'd hit him at all. Gritting his teeth, he yanked, removing the shaft with one pull. Swallowing the sticky, fetid air like water, he breathed through his teeth, thumping his head back on the wall behind him. Amazing how much a little thing could cripple, could kill. He flung the shaft away, hearing its clatter as it fell down the stairs.

"I know you're here."

The voice rose from the floors below, not quite a taunt. He smiled, closing his eyes. Oh, the things he could say in return. But that wasn't the way of a predator, the talk-talk-talking. That was the way of a Hollywood villain, spilling all the plans so the hero would have time to escape and therefore, win the day.

Of course, he wasn't quite sure which part he was supposed to be playing anymore. Was he the hero, going to come out on top or the villain, cloaked in darkness? Or maybe just losing it, since he couldn't remember how long ago he'd tossed that stake; when he'd last heard that voice. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the screams. But just who had been screaming? Everyone he knew, everyone he cared about was either dead or had vanished.

Save one.

A soft sound; a shoe scuffing lightly over a carpet tread. The stairs were the easiest way to reach him, he had to agree but also the most dangerous. He could see the stairway from where he slumped, a perfect view of who was climbing to reach him. And be damned if he was going to meet his opponent laying down. Pushing hard, he managed to stagger to his feet, his left leg nearly giving out when he put weight on it. Forcing his knee to stiffen, to bear him, he made his way to the stairs, risking a glance over what remained of the railing.

She wasn't looking up, a fatal flaw. Still, he didn't move, didn't react besides his hands clenching tight around that rail, so tight that the broken metal sliced into his palms. No matter what, she was beautiful; head unbowed, hair still gleaming like the sun used to depite the dust that clotted the strands. One of her arms hung uselessly, he'd broken it when she'd managed to shove the stake into his leg. How long ago was that, he thought wonderingly, how long have we played this game? He wet his lips with a tongue that felt dry; rasping against the sensitive skin and without thinking - thinking far too much - he called to her.

"Buffy."

Her head whipped up, hair slipping back from her face, her eyes burning fires reddened by dust, by death. He could see her throat work as she tried to clear it. "Angel," she said.

He cocked his head, leaning on the railing as nonchalantly as he could. "What do you say, we call it a draw? You hurt me, I hurt you. We both know how it's gonna end, after all."

"With me dancing in your ashes," she said, though her voice sounded tired rather than vehement.

He sighed. "Is that the way it has to be?"

She blinked, her eyes clearing for an instant. He could see their cool greenness from here; the way they shone briefly and he wondered, that she could still cry. He'd have thought she'd used up all her tears years ago, with the death of Dawn, of Joyce, of her Watcher and her friends. Her jaw firmed. "You know as well as I do. Don't fight it anymore, Angel. It ends today."

Staring down at her, at her readied stance, he thought, 'She's the only one who knows what it is to burn.' He could almost see the flames licking at her, the same that raced over his body: guilt and regret; fury and love.

Belying his wounds, he leaped lightly over the railing, soaring, comet-like, down to meet her.

* * *

What It Is To Burn by Finch

Today is on fire  
The sky is bleeding above me, and i am blistered  
I walk these lines of blasphemy, everyday  
And still...

Like a bad star, I'm falling faster down to her  
She's the only one who knows, what it is to burn

I feel diseased  
Is there no sympathy from the sun  
The sky still far  
But I am safe in here, from the world outside

So tell me  
What's the price to pay for glory

Like a bad star, I'm falling faster down to her  
She's the only one who knows, what it is to burn

Today is fire, and she burns  
Today is fire, and she burns  
She burns  
She burns  
She burns  
She burns  
She burns  
She burns

Like a bad star, I'm falling faster down to her  
She's the only one who knows, what it is to burn


End file.
